Living a Life of Regret
by Inglorious DMK
Summary: Arnon's thoughts as he makes his last delivery. Some onesided DeeArnon... and, well, you all know how it ends.


Title: Living a Life of Regret  
  
Author: Kameko-chan  
  
Warnings: Unrequited Dee/Arnon, death, dugs   
  
Notes: Um... Angst is being my friend lately. So here ya go, Arnon's last delivery.

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Arnon leaned back against the cool brick wall of the alley. He could feel the familiar effects of withdrawal—this wasn't the first time he'd waited too long for the drugs, and he doubted it would be the last. His heart was beating frighteningly fast; he wouldn't have been the least surprised if it burst right out of his chest. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, and his face felt like it was on fire. "I need my fucking drugs," he whispered in between frantic gasps. How could he have dropped it? Dee was going to figure out what going on for sure now, and Arnon didn't want that to happen. He needed the unwavering support of his friends, the comforting continuity that was the only thing keeping him sane these days. If they found out he was a mob delivery boy by day and fucktoy by night... nothing would ever be the same. That couldn't happen, he wouldn't let that happen!

First thing was first, though. Arnon needed his drugs or he was just going to lay in the gutter and die, that's all there was to it. Buck would give him more that night, he knew, but not if he didn't deliver that damned package. And so, Arnon, shaking like a leaf and wanting nothing more than to puke his guts out and then go to sleep for a long, long time, stood up and stumbled along the filthy alley towards the drop-off point. He slid one hand along the grimy wall in a feeble attempt to balance himself, while the other clutched the little blue parcel Buck had given him earlier in a white-knuckled grip. He idly wondered what exactly he was delivering today—drugs or drug money, knowing his employer. As usual, he was tempted to look, to see just what it was he carried, but he knew better. Any signs that the parcel had been tampered with and he'd be shot on the spot, no questions asked. He'd seen it happen once before to another delivery boy, a Latino about his own age. Arnon knew that even if he lived to be a hundred—doubtless, at the rate he was going—he would never forget the look of sheer terror in the other boy's eyes, or the exact shade of that crimson spray of blood on the wall behind him. He was sick for a week after that incident, and even now the memory of it made him dizzy. Or maybe that was just more of the withdrawal, it was hard to tell anymore.

Speaking of sick... Arnon couldn't stand it anymore; he stopped dead in his tracks and doubled over, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the loose gravel at his feet. There wasn't much to empty out, and when he was done he wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve and noticed that he was shaking worse than ever. Everything was getting cloudy, his breath was coming in ragged gasps, and he thought for sure that he was going to die right there. Tears welled in Arnon's eyes. He didn't want to die, and he especially didn't want to die in some stinking alley across the way from a fucking dumpster. It wasn't fair.

"You just need to last until tonight," he told himself between deep breaths as he tried desperately to get enough oxygen. "You can make it a few more hours without the drugs. Pull yourself together, and everything will be fine." An image of Dee rose unbidden in his mind. "Dee'd be able to do it," he told himself sternly. "Shit, this would be a walk in the park for him. Although," he smiled weakly, "Dee'd probably be smart enough to stay out of this shit in the first place." A hoarse laugh tried to make it's way out, but Arnon simply did not have enough air to let it live. It didn't matter. He didn't feel much like laughing anyways.

Arnon got shakily to his feet once more, but he was only able to make it a few steps away before another wave of pain and nausea made his knees buckle. He returned to the ground and began to weep, hot salty tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping off his chin to fall on the muddy ground below. "Look at yourself," he whispered bitterly, "Nothing but a fucking junkie and a whore. What would the guys say if they saw you now?" Arnon could imagine the looks of disgust on their faces, the jeers, and the taunting laughter. A sob wrestled its way out of his throat, and the tears kept flowing. "I didn't want it to end up like this."

Arnon wasn't a bad kid, hadn't ever been one. It was always Dee and Tommy who did the bad stuff, Dee and Tommy who'd get harassed by Jess and lectured by the penguin—all Arnon did was occasionally get caught in the crossfire. No one would have ever expected him to become a mob errand boy—hell, _he_ didn't even expect it. He was the good kid, the one who was going to get out of this dump, work his way to the right side of the tracks, _make _something of himself. He was most definitely not the one voted most likely to die a junkie in a back alley about three feet away from a puddle of his own vomit.

"I just wanted to help my mom!" Anger, at the world and at himself, gave strength to the boy's cries. "Is that so fucking wrong?! Fuck..." Arnon's eyes closed and his body slumped against the wall. Dee's face resurfaced in the back of his mind, and his heart broke in two. He buried his face in his folded arms, too tired to cry anymore but feeling worse than ever.

"I guess... I'll never be good enough for you now, huh?"

How can you tell someone how you feel when you can barely live with yourself?

"I don't want to do this anymore."

He paused. His tear-streaked face emerged once more.

Say it again.

"I don't want to do this anymore."

Once more, to make sure you're not dreaming.

"I don't want to do this anymore!"

Arnon was in shock. He hadn't once thought of quitting since he started, no matter how many times Jess had urged him to get out of the business. And now, with the fog of drugs and fear lifted from his brain by his exhaustion, Arnon finally saw clearly. He didn't want to be a mob delivery boy, and he didn't have to be. There was still time to get out, to redeem himself. Maybe even time to tell him...

What Arnon felt upon this joyous realization can only be described as pure elation. Jess would help him, he knew. And maybe if he told his friends that he was trying to get out, get help, they'd help him too. Why not? They were his friends; they'd helped each other through tough times before. They'd always been there when he needed them in the past.

"It's going to be hard," Arnon said quietly. A few hours without his drugs told him enough, breaking the habit was going to be hard, painful even. "But it'll be worth it," he continued breathlessly, a spark of life shimmering in his dull eyes, "to have hope again."

Arnon was happy. He was going home, and he would never have to look at Buck again, or let people do those horrible things to him in that apartment. Jess could go back to being like a dad, not a dealer. He could look his friends in the eye without guilt gnawing at his stomach. Arnon was so happy, in fact, that he nearly forgot about the little blue parcel until he brushed it with his hand as he prepared to return to his feet. A glance at the innocent-looking package, and his plans came screeching to a halt.

Now, Arnon _really _wanted to just leave the damned thing where it was. He didn't want to spend another second in this dirty business. However, Arnon knew that if he failed to make the delivery, his employers would punish him with his life. Not even Jess would be able to protect him from that.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Arnon picked up the parcel, rose shakily to his feet once more, and stumbled along to the drop-off point of his last delivery.

***

There was a fight. There'd been people at the drop-off, and several dead bodies littered the ground.

They knew what Arnon had, though he never did find out. While some of the men cleaned up the corpses, another group came towards him. Arnon panicked, ran. Big mistake.

They caught up with him, surrounded him. He pressed his back to the brick wall of the alley, the same brick wall he'd cried at only minutes ago. They took the parcel. One of them took out a gun.

Only one thought crossed Arnon's mind as the gun was aimed casually at his chest.

_I never even got to tell him that I love him._

The shot rang out, Arnon felt the hot kiss of the bullet, and his world went black.

~FIN~


End file.
